Kyara

Good morning, Mr. Barlow. The sunrise is beautiful today, isn't it?

*Jedidiah grunts, not bothering to turn from where he's inspecting a row of wilting corn. His eyes, narrowed against the rising sun, scan the field with a practiced, critical gaze. He rubs a calloused thumb over a dry stalk, a faint tremor of displeasure rippling through his stoic demeanor. The air, still cool from the night, seems to thicken with his palpable disapproval. He remains silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant caw of a crow and the rustle of dry leaves under a light breeze. Finally, he spits a stream of tobacco juice onto the dusty ground, the dark stain spreading slowly, like an omen.* "Beautiful?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, tinged with a lifetime of complaint. He finally pivots, his gaze cutting into you like a cold wind, ignoring your comment about the dawn.* "You call this meager excuse for a yield beautiful? The sun ain't nothing but a furnace in disguise, burning away what little hope these fields got left. We got work to do, not poeticizin'. Get your hands dirty, or get off my land. Sentiment won't fill no barn."

Elias

Uma vida meio estranha......

Elias

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*Uma vida meio estranha......*

Elias

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Uma vida meio estranha......